These Boots Were Made For Walking
by Jemmiah
Summary: ObiWan's sudden interest in making a fashion statement causes QuiGon some concern.


**These Boots Were Made For Walking**

**By Jemmiah**

* * *

There were many facets to Obi-Wan Kenobi's personality, as Qui-Gon was finding out. Intelligence, yes: there was that in abundance. A certain dry wit, to be sure, coupled with a devious and lively mind. Loyalty above all things. The one thing he hadn't banked upon, however, was vanity.

The master stood beside the display of long leather boots and shook his head in bewilderment as Obi-Wan paraded up and down in front of a full length dress mirror, posing from time to time to examine his chosen foot wear from various angles. Or - as Jemmiah would call it - strutting. Qui-Gon had never thought of Obi-Wan as particularly bothered with his appearance other than his curious need to drain the temple of every inch of its hot water supply first thing in the morning…not that Obi-Wan was ever unkempt or scruffy. Simply, this latest example of finding the right pair of 'swagger' boots revealed a side to his padawan that Qui-Gon didn't particularly care for or, alternatively, he'd not read Obi-Wan's personality well at all from the start…

"I like these." Obi-Wan admitted with a slight twinkle to his eyes. "I like these very much indeed." He placed his hands behind his back, pushing the folds of his Jedi robes behind him for good effect. "I think these boots are 'me', master."

"They are _very_ expensive; that much I do know, padawan." Qui-Gon quipped, wondering where this was leading. "You're not seriously thinking of purchasing them, are you?"

Obi-Wan looked down at his feet with a frown. "Why, what is the matter with them?"

The truth was that there was nothing wrong with them, and Qui-Gon knew it. Except that they were perhaps a touch too extravagant in terms of design…maybe a fraction flamboyant. The quality and workmanship were there to be certain: the finest Kruskan skin leather held together by the tiniest and strongest of stitching; Corellian-style in make and shape. And perhaps that was what bothered Qui-Gon so much: this unexpected urge his padawan had to dress like a pirate and parade through the temple seemed very much at odds with the quiet, diligent Obi-Wan he knew and respected.

"The matter isn't so much with these boots as to why you feel the need to purchase them." Jinn frowned as he tried to express his concern in so many words. "Why you are prepared to pay for these when the temple will issue you made-to-measure boots that will fit and last you years…"

Obi-Wan responded with a shrug. "The temple encourages originality and identity within acceptable parameters, master. You said so yourself. I am merely trying to assert my personality in the way that I dress. In all other respects I dress as you would expect any other padawan might. However, I wish to find my own style by choosing a pair of boots and a belt that reflect a little of my own characteristics."

At this Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow. Obi-Wan dressed safely, never with any need to wildly stay from the basic Jedi dress code. This was how the master had always seen his padawan: straight down the line and unerringly reliable. So what was he trying to say to him? That he had his quirks and hidden depths after all? Was it some kind of covert warning?

"A belt as well?" Sighed Qui-Gon, scratching thoughtfully at his beard. "Can you afford it?"

Obi-Wan didn't seem unduly bothered. "Not yet." He replied earnestly. "But I am assuredly working on the problem."

"Why don't I like the sound of that?"

A small, subtle smile twitched at Obi-Wan's lips as he sat down upon the nearby seat and removed a boot from his feet. Qui-Gon was at least pleased to see that the padawan had put new socks on that morning: usually they fell off his feet when the fibres rotted away to nothing, or so Jemmiah claimed. Of course he had no right to insist that Obi-Wan keep his credits for a rainy day, as he was his mentor not his financial assistant. Not that Jedi had such things…but still, it seemed like sheer folly to fritter away the few credits that he'd accrued over the years on mere frippery.

"Jemmiah's a bad influence upon you, I can see." Jinn folded his arms casually; watching as Obi-Wan pulled off the remaining boot. "Encouraging you to indulge in senseless fashion. It will take many weeks before those objects," he nodded in derisory fashion, "are properly broken in. I cannot have you gadding about the place in ill-fitting boots. What if you needed to run quickly and you found you were unable to do so because the toes were pinching? I'm not having you hobbling like a cripple when you might need to resort to combat. What use would you be then - to either myself or yourself?"

"I can break them in when I am walking around the temple." Obi-Wan answered pleasantly. "And wear my normal boots whilst on missions. Besides, I intend to have the outfitters make up all my boots in this style. That way everyone will know they are mine."

"Everyone knows which boots are yours, padawan." Qui-Gon couldn't help but joke. "Because after a couple of days they smell as if something has died in the toes…"

Obi-Wan stood up, handing his credits to the nearby assistant droid.

"No need to wrap them up." He waved his hand at the repulsar-seated metal being, who blinked its photoreceptors at him in astonishment. "I'd like to wear these back to the temple if that's possible. After all," he turned to the equally surprised Qui-Gon, "the sooner I break these in the better, is that not so master?"

Qui-Gon allowed incredulity to take over from puzzlement. "You wish to wear them home?" He repeated. "On the airbus?"

"Oh, I'm not taking the airbus. I'm going to walk home." The unfazed Kenobi replied, oblivious to the sharp, questioning looks his master aimed in his direction.

This time Qui-Gon felt that enough was enough. Vanity was hardly a virtue, and it could be taken to extremes in some instances. He glanced searchingly at the confidant expression on Obi-Wan's face, not certain to what end this grizzly self-punishment tended.

"You are going to kill yourself in those." Qui-Gon felt obliged to point out. "If you end up at the infirmary with bacta bandages and ice packs surrounding your feet, don't come limping to me looking for sympathy. It's fifteen miles from here back to the temple. You wont last three before you develop egg-sized blisters."

"I'll take that wager." Obi-Wan answered stoutly, puffing himself up with bravado. "I'm not afraid to walk a mere fifteen miles!"

"In new boots?" Jinn reminded him. "You'll be in agony within half an hour. Still, much as I dislike seeing anyone suffer, especially yourself, it sounds as if you will not accept my advice. On your own head be it, padawan. I will take the sensible route and travel by airbus. I expect I will see you eventually…should you make it without resorting to an air cab."

Obi-Wan looked affronted. "I have no intention of cheating, master. I give my word that I will complete the distance on foot, wearing my boots - and what is more I shan't get so much as a blister!"

Qui-Gon shook his head, then reluctantly stretched out his hand to signal his acceptance of the wager. Obi-Wan was proving far too cocky and clearly needed to learn this lesson. Some humility wouldn't go amiss, either.

"Very well." The master considered for a moment. "If you insist on crippling yourself in the name of vanity, so be it. If you do manage to make it home unscathed - having accepted the terms - I will buy you the belt that you currently cannot afford."

The joyous light in Obi-Wan's blue eyes turned to clouded uncertainty as he accepted the deal, briskly shaking his masters hand. Bluster and bluff could only get a person so far: and as the saying went, pride usually went before a fall. Now, as he watched Qui-Gon walk reluctantly towards the store's exit with a final, rueful glance over his shoulder, Obi-Wan knew it was down to him to show that he wasn't going to end up with designer blisters to match his designer boots…

* * *

On the way home Qui-Gon had been left to reflect upon the unusual change in his padawan's attitude and sudden interest in material objects. All the time he'd spent in the airbus on the way home his mind had turned over the problem, coming up with no clear or remotely satisfactory answers. He'd even ignored a 'hale and good day' from his friend Dex Berlingside as he'd disembarked on the landing pad, so preoccupied was he. And when he'd retired to the apartment in the temple's accommodation block, throwing himself into his special body-contouring chair, nothing else would distract him from the realisation that Obi-Wan was beginning an inevitable downward spiral…

Not that boots led to the darkside. But vanity tended to be frowned upon amongst the Jedi. It was one thing to take pride in ones appearance but another thing to want to spend credits upon frivolous accessories that could be gotten, albeit plainer in appearance, from the temple for free. If Obi-Wan was beginning to take an interest in such things as fashion and style, it was probably because he had his eye on some unsuspecting female…

Qui-Gon groaned. He'd dreaded this day for some time: even the most dutiful and diligent of padawans faced hormonal demons at some stage in their lives. After all, had he been any different? No, he amended silently; boots led to women, women led to pain, pain led to suffering. And who amongst them liked to suffer?

Apart from Master Ejash. And frankly he'd always been considered a little strange.

There was nothing else for it except to go over once again with his padawan the need to keep focused on his training, pushing all else to one side. Cold showers often did the trick, and if that failed there were substances that could be added to ones tea supply…

It was whilst still mulling over this predicament some three and a half hours later that Obi-Wan eventually appeared at the doorway to the apartment, looking slightly flushed in the face but in all other respects glowing, almost jubilant. Something about the self-satisfied gleam in the padawan's eyes informed Qui-Gon that he might have lost his wager…until he had cause to look down at Kenobi's feet.

"Those aren't your new boots." Qui-Gon placed his hands on his hips, standing akimbo. "Those are your _old_ ones! What happened to the bet?"

Obi-Wan followed his master's gaze down towards the scuffed, dark brown leather toes of his old, comfortable Jedi boots.

"I didn't forget the bet, master." He answered smoothly. "I gave you my word."

For a moment Qui-Gon stared in puzzlement at the young man, until realisation softened his features. "Ah, I understand." He nodded at his padawan's feet. "You tried it but found you couldn't manage the distance, and so to save your feet you did the sensible thing and put on your old pair."

"Not at all, master." Obi-Wan replied, swaggering past Qui-Gon on his way into the living area. "I wore the new boots home just as I said would;" And with that Obi-Wan shouldered his way out of his cloak, revealing the shiny new boots beneath, fingers wedged into the toes of each. "On my hands. I found my robe concealed them rather well, else I might have garnered some strange looks on the way! But you did dare me to wear the new boots home, and so I wore them like so!" He raised both arms by way of a victory gesture. "After all, you never specified how they were to be worn, or where…"

He began to head towards his bedroom with a view to admiring his new purchases once again, stopping long enough only to whisper apologetically in Qui-Gon's ear:

"Oh, and that will be 150 credits for the belt, master."


End file.
